May 30, 2017 (Tuesday)

by Yule Heibel on May 29, 2018

Back to the grind of getting up early, albeit an hour later than what we were sticking to for about six weeks up until the middle of last week. Yesterday saw W. complaining about the weather. He will easily disparage it if it involves too extreme a state (snow storms, say, or crushing heat and humidity), but yesterday he really fell into “the hole,” too, over simply lousy weather. It was one of those “God, I’m stuck at home and it’s ‘End of Days'” kind of thing: a whole day of just permanent, dense mist and fog and drizzle, nothing dramatic. Just enough to suck the life from your bones’ marrow. Final seeming. And of course, at home because we scotched plans to drive into Cambridge.

We took a walk just before and around midday, through the cemetery (always cheering) to the beach and on to the park before turning back into downtown. The wind felt very raw and cold, coming off the water, blowing hard whenever we were exposed to it, on the beach, on an elevation. When we reached the main street we decided to stop at T. for hot chocolate. Imagine, May, Memorial Day – and time for hot chocolate. Strange weather.

On Sunday night we had gone out to eat at B.H.-Restaurant. When we arrived and for the first 20 minutes, the noise level was tolerable. A middling loud soundtrack of blues, rhythm and blues, not my favorite “background-y” dinner music, but w/e. People at other tables were already speaking quite loudly, but, as Americans, that’s their god-given right, to speak loudly, to have loud voices and to not mind yelling intimate details about their lives at the other people sitting 30 inches away. Or into their phones when they’re on the street or taking a train. But the restaurant, now at 7:30p.m., wasn’t yet full. However, once it filled up the din escalated to unpleasant levels. As the general noise level rose, everyone started speaking even more loudly because they were now competing with every other table to be heard. And the managers cranked up the music as the patrons’ yelling drowned it out. When the music got louder, people screeched even more, now that they were competing against one another and against electronically amplified rhythm and blues. I left the restaurant feeling stressed and genuinely ripped off. But at least we walked there and back, which made me feel a little bit like we live in an actual, walkable city.

Yesterday we Skyped with both kids (albeit separately …damn time zones). A. is now a member of The Factory, Berlin, and that had me feeling envious. We checked it out online and then googled around if anything like it was in Boston or Cambridge. Nope. And especially not at the affordable rate of €600 per annum. Deal. (Anachronistic add on, video, Halloween party at The Factory: A., at the 4-5 second mark, wearing a “Boston” sweatshirt.)

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